Names Can Change
by NinjaDevil2000
Summary: How did Tom Riddle come up with his new name? How was You-Know-Who created?


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I wish I did though, Then, I could have all the chocolate frogs and sugar quills I wanted.

Author's Note: This story is set in late 1941. TMR is in his fourth year at Hogwarts. Now, this time period is extremely dodgy so if any ages of the characters are wrong, please tell me. I tried my best to do the correct math and have TMR's fellow students be the correct ages, but it's extremely hard. I had tremendous fun writing about the Slytherin common room as well, because I was able to play around with imagery. Btw, the common room looks out into the lake.

Alright, please please enjoy and read and review. It really means a lot.

Beta read by the wonderful Sophie (3cheersforidiots)! Go give her some love, check out her stories, all that fun stuff. A plate of virtual cookies and a warm glass of butterbeer to her in thanks for the help and delightful conversation. Cheers, Soph! :)

Also, a huge thanks to my Headmistress (lun27) She always helps me with any problems I have or any questions. Same with Verity Grahams. She helps me incredibly. Thanks to both of them. Go give them all some love! :)

Written for the IWSC Round 7

School and Year: Mahoutokoro, Year 2

Theme: The Era of Grindelwald - 1880 to 1945

Main Prompt: Any known Wizarding school (I chose Hogwarts)

Additional Prompts: Thunderstorm

Word count: 1767

_xxx_

Tom Riddle sat against the trunk of a tree on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, waving his wand lazily at a group of tiny brown field mice. Tom had petrified them, and he flicked his wand up and down, throwing them against trees, levitating or cursing them as they whimpered and squeaked. They were in pain. They were afraid. Tom merely smiled.

It was a Saturday in October. It was slightly chilly, and the breeze that blew through the forest forced Tom to pull his cloak slightly tighter. The afternoon was drifting away while a cool and damp evening replaced it.

At last, Tom reluctantly stood, brushing some leaves and twigs off his robes. Figuring he would retreat to the castle's warmth for a delicious dinner, Tom began walking, leaving the small creatures behind to fend for themselves.

Tom was fourteen years old, soon to become fifteen, and had many "friends", though he wouldn't use that particular word himself. He preferred the term "followers." As he approached the stone steps that would lead him into the Entrance Hall, Tom saw one of his followers, Julian Rookwood, standing there, waiting for him. Julian was two years younger than Tom. Julian looked up to him, seeing Tom as his idol, and he enjoyed keeping Tom in his sights nearly everywhere he went.

"Hey, Tom," Julian began, walking up to him, "what have you been up to?"

"Nothing much," Tom said with a thin smile, "just practicing a bit for Dark Arts."

Julian nodded, apparently not wanting to know exactly what Tom had been doing. "Well, dinner's almost over, and I thought you might like to know."

Tom nodded and pushed past Julian, leading him back inside the castle and out of the light rain which had started to fall.

"Mikaela was wondering where you were earlier," Julian stated from behind his idol.

"And what did you tell her?" Tom replied inquisitorially.

"I told her you were out on the grounds somewhere," Julian told him. Tom nodded again. Mikaela Rosier was the same age as Tom, and had a severe crush on him. Tom, however, did not return the affection. He admitted that Mikaela was a pretty girl, but he had no inclination whatsoever to be in a relationship.

"So when's the next meeting?" Julian asked, jogging slightly so that he was level with Tom.

"I am not sure," Tom replied, speaking with deliberation. "I have an announcement to make, but I am still working on the . . . finer details."

"Oh," Julian said plainly. It was obvious to everyone who knew him that Tom was not one to talk without reason.

Depending on the time of year and what was happening amidst the school, staff, and students, Tom would conduct meetings as often as a few times a week or once a month. He had started the meetings at the beginning of his second year, and the focus of these meetings would vary, encompassing everything from Quidditch and homework to the goings-on around the world and recent Wizarding news. The meetings took place in the Slytherin common room and only a select few people were invited.

The two boys were now entering the Great Hall, passing other students who had apparently already eaten. As they reached their table, a few fellow Slytherins nodded to Tom. He nodded back and pulled a dish of steak-and-kidney pie towards himself, contentedly listening to the sounds of talking, laughter, and quiet rain dripping from the sky onto the high ceiling.

After finishing his steak-and-kidney pie and a slice of treacle tart, Tom left the Great Hall for his beloved common room under the lake, Julian hurrying along in his wake.

An hour later, Tom found himself sitting in front of the blazing fire in a comfortable, silver leather armchair. He had his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions homework laid out in front of him on a table, but he wasn't paying it any attention. In fact, he was working on something completely different.

Tom was pouring over many scraps of parchment, upon which he had written his own name repeatedly.

**_Tom Marvolo Riddle_**

He despised his name, the "Tom" part in particular because it was disgustingly common, and because he knew that it was the same as his filthy Muggle father's name.

Tom growled in frustration as he succeeded in another failed attempt at transforming his name.

Anagrams were an interesting pastime of Tom's. The way letters of a word could be rearranged to mean something completely different piqued Tom's curiosity.

He scratched out certain letters in his own name, rewriting them below to spell the words **_I AM LORD_**. Those three words had basically written themselves, but nine letters remained. And with them, Tom would create a new name. A name that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies; a name that people would be afraid to speak; a name that would live on through history.

The letters that remained were **_T, O, M, R, V, O, D, L, _**and **_E_**. A few of his failed attempts at concocting a new fear-instilling name were **_Moltroved_**,**_ Domtrovle_**, and**_ Teldrovrom_**, among other equally unsatisfactory alternatives. Tom scowled as he started writing possible sobriquets again, this time beginning with the letter **_V_**.

**_Vormodelt._**

**_ Velmodort._**

**_ Volmedort._**

**_ Voldemort._**

That was it. Voldemort. _With a silent T, though, _Tom thought with a smirk, _to further abandon that common Muggle name_.

"Voldemort," he silently mouthed to himself, turning to stare at the flames of the crackling fire. He smiled, and, unbeknownst to him, a glint of red sparked within his dark eyes.

"Tom," asked a soft voice from behind him, startling him out of his trance.

"Yes, Mikaela?" Tom replied, turning suddenly.

"Oh, well, I was just wondering if you had planned the next meeting yet?" she asked, looking up into his handsome face with eager eyes.

Tom thought quickly. "Yes, actually," he said, "it'll be tomorrow evening."

"Oh, wonderful," Mikaela murmured, her soft, silky voice sounding a bit surprised, but happy nevertheless. "I'll pass the word around."

Tom smiled as Mikaela wandered away, and he sauntered over to the nearest window, looking out into the Black Lake. He could see the variations in the water, results of the former drizzling which had now morphed into a full-fledged thunderstorm.

As he observed the flickering water and as one of the Giant Squid's limbs waved past, he realized that he was no longer Tom Riddle. Yes, perhaps that would be the name that teachers used, the name that was written on Hogsmeade forms, and the name which he wrote atop his exams, but the person related to that name was now gone.

_xxx_

The thunderstorm from the previous day had remained, and so terrible was the lightning and wind that Herbology lessons were cancelled, ending Tom's day earlier than usual. This meant that he had more time to plan his meeting . . . and the reveal.

Knowing that Tom was planning another meeting, several Slytherins ate quickly so as to return to the common room and to hear what Tom had to say.

A few people started bullying the uninvited students out of the common room, but Tom stopped them, saying, "No, let them listen this time. This should be heard by everyone who wishes to hear it."

Every Slytherin present, regular attender or not, remained. Even the students who weren't particularly fond of Tom found themselves staying, intrigued by the sly smile playing across his face.

Tom sat in the silver armchair again, patiently waiting for everyone else to sit and get comfortable, for he wanted an attentive audience. He saw his closest followers, including Ictricia Dolohov, Sucrelt Rowle, Aranat Mulciber, and Lucresta Lestrange all sitting closest to him. The others, all of whom he knew, such as Cassiana and Makata Crabbe (a pair of sisters who both looked like snails) and Ferranus Nott (a small boy who constantly trembled), all found seats nearer the walls, further away from the person who looked frightening at some times, but handsome and endearing at others.

Once the room had quieted, everyone seemingly holding their breath, Tom stood and circled the room, rolling a Sickle between his fingers. Listening to the sound of the pounding thunder echoing through the castle, he felt the multiple pairs of eyes follow his every movement, watching him with curiosity. When he had circled the room entirely and returned to lean against the silver chair, he saw Lucresta staring at him intently, as if trying to penetrate his mind.

_She would not succeed, though, _Tom thought wryly, believing deeply in his accomplished skills as a Legilimens, even though he was only fourteen.

"Now," he began in a soft voice, causing everyone to jump slightly at the sound, "I'm sure you are all wondering why you have been invited to remain," he continued, looking intently at each student's face in turn.

"I have . . . decided that the simple name _"Tom,'_" he spat out the name in disgust, "is simply no longer worthy for me anymore." Someone scoffed from the back of the room, but quieted immediately and cowered slightly in their chair, after receiving hardened looks from Tom, Lucresta, and a couple of others.

"As I was saying," Tom continued darkly, "the name_ 'Tom'_ is a filthy Muggle name. And so, over the past few days, I have been experimenting with new names. A name that would be feared above all others; a name that people would be afraid to speak aloud."

Tom stared around the room, then pulled out his wand.

"Sucrelt, if you would," Tom said, gesturing to Sucrelt and then to the chair. Sucrelt moved the chair hastily, then sat down again, his eyes hardly ever leaving his leader's face.

"Observe," Tom said simply. He turned and pointed to the fire. Out of it, rose flames, twisting and turning in midair. He flourished his wand and the flames began splitting, shaping themselves into letters, then sorting themselves into words; a name.

**_Tom Marvolo Riddle_**

The name flickered through the air, transfixing the students' gazes. After staring at his despicable name for a moment, Tom waved his wand again, and the letters began repositioning themselves. Thunder rumbled outside and a flicker of light could be seen through the dark windows and waters, revealing a bolt of lightning that had just been splayed across the sky.

And, as a deafening crack of thunder shook the castle to its very foundations, wind whirring through the corridors, a new name was revealed, Tom's eyes glowing red in the firelight.

**_I am Lord Voldemort_**.


End file.
